


Unwanted

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Toppy/Dommy Kylo [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Consensual Non-Consent, M/M, Restraint, Xenophilia, no non-con, sadism and masochism, sexualised violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux has... needs. They get him into trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwanted

General Hux was Human. It was a fact he tried very hard to deny when it didn’t suit, and to reaffirm when it was a counter-point to the _other_. His fallibilities and weaknesses were to be expunged, but his status as _not-alien_ was to be elevated and celebrated.

But he was. Even when he tried to deny it. He was Human, and he had urges. 

Most of the time he could satisfy his urges alone, with a holo and a hand or a toy and maybe some artificial lubrication to ease the way. It felt good-wrong to do it, and right before he’d climax he’d feel the shuddering justification of an urge well-satisfied…

…but after, alone, with his splattered emissions cooling on his hand, his belly, his sheets… with the gritty, grimy, sloppy awareness of his sin, he would feel the guilt continue to rise and the pleasure cease to exist. What had - moments before - been a source of great arousal (the bad, bad, sick and wrong things he craved) now just showed him up as _weak_ and pathetic.

(And, on his worst days, as a species-traitor.)

But he was Human. He continued to do these things because the hunger for it would mount until it became unbearable, like the urge to void one’s bladder, or the need to feed one’s stomach. It became loud, and he would find himself alone and scratching the itch until it (metaphorically, _usually)_ bled. 

And that was enough for ninety-nine percent of the time. 

Ninety-nine.

Sometimes it was not enough.

And so, the son of Brendol Hux himself, darling of the Academy (or: most arduously driven of the Academy), youngest General in the records (First Order, definitely. Imperial… perhaps not), commander of the _Finalizer_ and destroyer of the Republic’s homestead…

General (cough into hand) Hux found himself in civilian clothing. His distinctive hair had been slicked through with a muddy brown that would last for a few washes unless he used the remover (or scrubbed super hard). He was several hundred credits richer in person, and he’d taken illicit prophylactics, and packed his inner pockets with barriers, lubricants, and anything else he could think of.

The officer who cleared his flight to the surface, under no flag, asked no questions and was therefore perfect. Hux had little reason to go undercover, but the officer didn’t need to know either way. Hux landed one of their non-identifiable shuttles in the dock, grabbed a local transport further along, paying in hard credits, and vanished into the underbelly of this third-rate world. 

Hux knew this was even worse than holos. At least with the holos and his fantasies, he could imagine he was being used. He could imagine that the tendrils he dreamt would wrap around his limbs and pull him wide were doing so regardless of his will. He could imagine that the strangely too-big appendages sliding into his mouth, down his throat, around his cock, or into his hole were… taking their own pleasure, and he was helpless to resist. 

Or sex pollen. That worked, too, and never failed to get him off. The concept that he’d be rendered lust-mad and wouldn’t be able to refuse (and thus, his peccadilloes were not his fault) stoked fires in his loins. And it was okay, because it wasn’t what you ‘wanted’.

But going to a cantina - if you could _use that word_ \- that was a pre-meditated act. He’d planned this in military detail. He’d taken time out to… to dress accordingly. To find somewhere that the dancers were more… _esoteric_.

Of course, Human males and females danced here. But Human males and females also danced on his ships. He couldn’t _have_ them because there were rules about fraternisation, but technically they were there and available. And if he felt so inclined he could always turn on the holo-cams in their private spaces and watch.

(He’d considered it, but then decided he didn’t want to. If nothing else, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever work with someone if he’d seen them… well. Compromised.)

He slipped into one of the booths to the side, one without a dancer. The first to approach and ask what he’d like (to drink, nominally) was a female with broad hips and patterned skin. She looked like a painted Human, rather than something truly exotic. Not quite right, but a nice show. He ordered a drink, and slid his fingers over the table in one of the known gestures to indicate he wanted _males_ and preferably _males who looked nothing like him_.

The drink came in the hands of one such male. He was a little too svelte for Hux’s real liking (he had a weakness for men who could overpower him properly, and who were - ahem - carrying a large torch), blue and limber. Hux couldn’t help his eyes trailing over him (head to toe), lingering on the skimpy excuse for a loin-cloth, and took the matchingly azure drink from the offered little tray.

It smelled pungently lethal, and the rim was crystalised with pink sparkles. It had one hell of a kick when he knocked it back, then put it on the tray and lay backwards against the - the - he was sure the end had to come soon, right? He kept falling and falling and the dark, blacklight settings dimmed and - _fuck_ he’d - he’d not tested the drink - he’d–

***

Hux came to slowly. His head pounded in that post-drugged way he fortunately didn’t know _very_ well (but well enough that he should have _not let it happen again_ ), and he was angry.

Angry, mostly, at himself. His ridiculous thirst for exotic cock had screwed him, and it hadn’t used lube. 

(Actually, if he’d been screwed first, he might have been less annoyed now. But no. And he doubted whoever had drugged and kidnapped him was going to come through on that.) 

Right now, his wrists were caught together, above his head. He couldn’t see how, but it felt like thick, bounty-hunter style cuffs. The kind even the Order couldn’t afford as standard issue. So he was worth something, at least.

He knew he was. But the fact that his _captor_ knew it, too, was… nice. 

He didn’t feel injured elsewhere, but that could be because he couldn’t feel them, yet, or because they were waiting. Hux didn’t know if it was a Resistance-sympathising bounty hunter, one who just wanted to make a quick score to whoever would buy him back, or if it was the Resistance themselves. 

It would be impossible to find out straight off. 

The room was dark, lit by sconces that gave the effect of sinking into darkness, with the only light the diffuse scattering far overhead. The building seemed to be of the same stone construction that the local buildings around the ‘cantina’ had been, so Hux was pretty sure he hadn’t left the planet. There was a wide open room in front, with no decorations. No chairs. No tables. No nothing. 

No doors, either. No escape, and no way to see who was entering (or leaving). He couldn’t see any surveillance, but that meant nothing. You could hide a micro holo-recorder practically anywhere, after all. 

He hung there, arching onto the balls of his feet from time to time, lessening the stretch in his arms. He turned his head, tried to do brief - bound - exercises to keep his muscles from seizing and the blood flowing, but mostly he was bored witless. _Witless_.

When the sound of footsteps finally happened, he was delighted beyond all measure for a moment, then regretted his _impulsive_ side all over.

The thing that walked in front of him was about seven foot tall. Fur covered its body from head to toe, and its head itself comprised of two narrow, slitted eyes above a muzzle that narrowed to a finer point, almost hairless, and punctuated at the tip with two protruding thick, dangerous tusks. It looked even less friendly than a Wookie, and Hux searched his memory for - ah. Yes. _Whiphid._

Not one of his usual… nocturnal, imagined visitors… but he’d certainly wondered about that snout a few times. The hands were almost paw-like, and the fur would be an interesting sensation against his–

…what in the stars was wrong with him? He was getting off on it, even now? He was probably going to be tortured (almost certainly), and likely killed (very, very likely), and he was thinking about what swung between the furry thing’s legs, and if it would let him see before he died? What the fuck?

The Whiphid’s eyes bulged a moment, then retracted, and it (he?) stood in front of Hux. It lifted its muzzle, rifling down the length of it, peering down at the shorter man.

It said nothing.

Hux frowned. If this was an interrogation tactic, it was a dumb one, and he didn’t like it. 

“I won’t tell you anything,” he said, which was kind of proving the thing’s point for it.   


The Whiphid brought its left hand in, slamming across his throat, squeezing and choking. While it did that, the other paw fisted and rained blows in at his hip and solar plexus. 

Ever the sensible one (hah), even as it happened, he tracked the blows and the likely damage. It wasn’t anything that would rupture, and it would do minor contusive damage. He’d come up black and blue, but he wouldn’t die. The punches spiked endorphins in his body, and after the first wave of _ow, ow fuck_ , Hux let himself…

…well. He might as well fuck with the guy. It wasn’t _his_ fault he was a raging masochist. Hux had learned that pain happened a lot, and you either suffered it, or you found ways to enjoy it. That way you stole the power from whoever sought to hurt you, _and_ you had a nice time.

Plus, his brain was just wired up that way. Maybe the previous attempts had reprogrammed him, or maybe he was naturally fucked. 

Didn’t matter. 

He pulled in the delicious stimulus, storing it like fat reserves for a lean winter. Coiled the thuds in like tension winding a spring, let the chemical reactions to the injury spur him harder still. His cock strained furiously against the inside of his too-tight pants, and he found himself smirking.

“That the best you can do?”  


‘Do’, however, was punctuated by the semi-colon of a two-fingered paw slapping his cheek. His head turned (and his neck would ache, if he survived this), taking the blow. He felt the slice of the claws and the sudden drip of blood that hit his shoulder, and he turned his face back to face down (or up) his captor.  


Hux let that inch his interest ever higher. He had the control, now. He had the situation. Even if he _was_ chained, bound, beaten… this was his tune, and the other would _march to it_. His eyes lit with fire inside, and he smirked. He smirked the smirk of a man who was enjoying this, and ignoring all the bad things. A man who was lost to the moment, and not thinking too far ahead.

(He would scream, if he did, with impotent horror and rage. You just had to keep the now going, and keep yourself high.)

The hand around his throat moved. Left. Scratched at his shirt, clawing it clear open and lightly rending two tracks down his torso in the process. Hux lifted his head proudly, not giving anything, not letting him break him. Even when the claws found his belt and tugged at it and–

— _ohshitohshitohshit it was going to happen? It was okay in daydreams, in fantasies. In reality was another matter. Would he still enjoy it? Would his body still remember his self-abuse sessions? A furious fist pumping his cock as he bounced madly on imaginary aliens, made ‘flesh’ by artifice and a hefty credit fee? Was he actually sick enough to come from an alien taking him without his consent, or was he going to consent? What the–_

Hux panicked, and then he felt the ‘hand’ work inexpertly over his crotch. Hah. Alien idiot. They lacked the evolved precision of a H—hnnnnngghh.

He found the grip made him roll his eyes up, rocking into the touch and wanting… wanting more. Wanting it to keep stroking. Wanting it to slice those claws near his cock. Wanting….

Down came his pants. A claw sluicing enough to make them redundant, and they fell to the ground. Down, too, his boxers, and he was exposed for the filthy, filthy alien-loving scum he was. 

His head tilted down when he saw the creature reach for its own cock. It had to fight a little, and then a furry sheath was in one hand. It tugged away at itself, then pulled enough back to–

Hux had not seen a Whiphid dick. The one that poked out of the fuzzy home did not look like he expected, though. In fact, it looked… oddly Human. Oddly… familiar.

He looked up, and wondered why the alien had said nothing. The eyes blinked, but when he looked for recognition in them, or any kind of sense, it… it wasn’t. It wasn’t… ‘right’.

It wasn’t real. None of this was. 

Which meant…

Oh, Maker.

They’d fooled around a few times, sure, but he’d never divulged his - ah - occasional self… satisfying sessions. They’d become fewer since they’d taken up ‘colleagues with benefits’ status, and… had he been rummaging through his things, or his mind? Either was an intrusion, and either would require one hell of a ‘don’t you fucking dare’, but Kylo…

Kylo had engineered this whole thing? Faked a kidnapping? Tied him up? Tortured and titillated him, knowing it was his deepest, darkest secret? The fantasy he would _never_ divulge? He’d done this… for him? 

A choking feel of gratitude, and he… he nodded. Just a little, and when the paws moved to strip his legs bare and pull them up and around the faux-Whipid’s waist, he struggled accordingly.

But oh, did it feel good. He let himself go, then. Let himself indulge in the idea that he was going to be ravaged by some primitive, lesser being. That his will didn’t matter, because there was a slather of lube around his hole and… okay. 

He didn’t have the dexterity to prep him, not really, with those fake fingers. So when he felt the pressure of Kylo’s cock (very lubed) against his entrance, he knew he had to grin and bear it. He’d done it before, and it was not something he’d do _often_ , but he could every once in a while. Like now. Like now, when a blunt head pressed against him, sliding a little and then easing against his hole.

Roleplay or not, this was… he had to let his body go for it. His hands tightened as he tried to relax his lower half, tried to open so it wouldn’t rupture him. Kylo was a _big_ man, and Hux had taken bigger (mostly artificial), but he knew how to be sensible. He panted, and bore himself onto it, feeling the flare of the head breaching him by degrees.

Fortunately, his ‘Whiphid’ lover wasn’t into bloody fucks, and he went slowly, too. Tiny rocks that made Hux want to scream, almost, and then deeper strokes as he settled himself inside. Furry thighs brushed his ass, and Hux’s head swam. It certainly added to the realism, and he gulped down air until…

“…yes.” Just one word. It’s all he’d say.  


And Kylo-Whiphid started _moving_. 

Still slowly, at first. Slowly and oh, oh, oh but he was sure Kylo was going to puncture up into something deep and important, or pull his insides out. He liked it _hard_ , and this was definitely that. Kylo pretty much hit everything he could right on the head, and although it was glorious, it was also pretty much _terrifying how easily he’d done it_ , and Hux wanted to simultaneously propose marriage and **kill him and airlock his body**. But if he killed him, this wouldn’t ever happen again.

And maybe next time he wouldn’t be able to achieve the real terror of rape, but the terror of being _seen_ and **understood** was maybe even worse than the thought of being used and abused by some monster. Knowing he _liked it_  was the hardest part.

The rough clench gave way to something easier, and the movement gained in organic momentum. In, out, in, out. The slide of him inside, the pressure, the opening, the coming together. The coming _together_. The fact that he consented to this, that he wanted this so utterly and he’d have to look Kylo in the eye, later.

Maybe that’s why the mask. They could both pretend, if they wanted to. 

Kylo took him fiercely, and when he got close, Hux could feel it. Could feel it, and then there was a rough, three-clawed hand on his cock. It struggled to grab him (not real, after all), and fisted over his length with fury and a growl that was almost realistic. Hux screamed as Kylo’s pounding combined with that, and he came with an arch of his back and a tug on his wrists and a horror-fear-lust-gratitude-shame-embarrassment-release-hope. Came, and felt the spurts inside him that say Kylo had, too. 

He felt weirdly pleased he could still get Kylo off like this (and why? Why did being a monster who _takes_ appeal to him? Or was it the Human who _gives_  that Kylo enjoyed?). 

They stayed locked together for a moment, then the faux-Whiphid withdrew. Dropped him down, and tucked his spent cock away in the fuzzy little sheath. Another grunt, and he was gone.

Hux was left with his shame staining his belly, and his legs bared. The shirt was open around him, and… he felt…

Good?

Bad?

Terror?

Elation?

It felt different to when he did it to himself, certainly. He was still swimming through the aftermath when his demise-saviour entered.

“Hux,” said Kylo Ren, masked Knight of the Order. “I’m here to save you.”  


Hux almost laughed, but instead he barked: “You took your time.”

“They…” Kylo paced closer. “They hurt you.”  


“Nothing I won’t survive.”  


Hands that were gentle when they unclasped him, a shoulder ready to support him. It felt… nice. Caring touches that helped to clean and dress him, and make him presentable again. Didn’t judge. Didn’t accuse.

“I’m sorry,” Kylo said, a hand on his waist.  


_I’m not_ , Hux thought, and he knew, somehow, that Kylo would hear.

They were going to do this again. 

“I’ll get you home,” Kylo added.  


This part was new. He’d never fantasised about being rescued by someone who… who cared. Someone who would tend to his body and his heart afterwards. Hux felt the wave of gratitude again, and their eyes met.

 _Thank you._  He knew he heard. He **knew.**


End file.
